


Welcoming the dawn;

by teenglader



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, idk - Freeform, just stick with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenglader/pseuds/teenglader





	Welcoming the dawn;

Grantaire couldn't tell what he was mad about more: the fact that there's an empty box of cereal, his favorite cereal, on his kitchen table or the fact that he's back.

  
_Enjolras is back._   
_Enjolras is dead._   
_He's not._   
_He-_

  
"These are so good!" said Enjolras casually, pointing at Tony The Tiger. "They are Grrreat" he imitated the advertisment before drinking the rest of his cereal milk. Grantaire couldn't stop staring at the white mustache right above his pink lips.  
He was dead.

  
For three damn years.

  
"You want some?" Enjolras teases.   
Grantaire opened his mouth to speak, but words wouldn't come out - just a soundless breath of all the things he didn't get to say three years ago, of late night prayers and sleepless nights.  
After closing his mouth, he opened them again, only to let out "I'm not drunk enough for this." There were at least ten empty cans of beer on the kitchen counter, a broken glass (that painful cut on his right palm finally makes sense) and half eaten food all over the floor. To a stranger, he'd seem drunk enough. To Enjolras, it must have looked like a typical Grantaire lair. Grantaire reached the fridge, almost slipping on a slice of bread. His headache was getting stronger by second.  
Grantaire grabbed something much stronger than beer now, though he had no idea what it was, some Russian alcoholic drink Courf brought him after his one year long trip across the world. Every member of the ABC was dealing with the loss differently; where some decided to stand up for what their leader died for, Grantaire prefered his fights with a bottle of liquor. Eventually he'd let it win, passing out drunk to forget the world.   
Finally when the liquid had hit his brain and its cells started to work properly, Grantaire spoke with a harsh tone "You ate my fucking cereal."  
"Oh, " at this point Enjolras was leaning on a wooden chair "Sorry 'bout that." The chair creacked underneath his weight. He looked right at Grantaire, like nothing had happened.  
"Sorry 'bout that?" Grnataire echoed.  
"I'll buy you another box," Enjolras stated.  
"You'll buy me another box?" Grantaire echoed again, as it was the strangest thing he had heard in his life.   
Enjolras had changed, he was much older now, but the years were kind to him. Although he looked tired, his eyes still pierced with same energy of blue skies right before a big thunderstorm - those same eyes that used to light fires on the streets of France, watched the city go down in flames, mirroring the revolutionary apocalypse.   
He cut his hair. Last time he had seen him it was shoulder lenght, now it's barely covering his ears. The golden locks were still disobidient, though, falling over his forehead. Like this, looking beautiful and frightening at the same time, he was Enjolras again.  


_Picture of the past Enjolras crossed R's mind._   
_Enjolras covered in red, his blood not so different than the shade of his red jacket._   
_- **Let's go, R**! - Someone pulling him away from the sun._   
_- **He's gone**. - Someone pulling him into darkness._   


He looked so alive now. Grantaire almost hoped it was just another drunk dream he's having. It was time to wake up.  
"If you want me to..." Enjolras muttered.  
"I don't want you to buy me fucking cereal, Enjolras!" Grantaire bolted out, throwing the empty box at him. The agony and anger from last night creeped into his bones again.  
"R. Look, I'm -"  
“Oh, don’t R me!” He was so frustrated, he wanted to scream. He should be happy. Scream with happiness and give Enjolras a hug, tell him what he kept to himself all these years and- “Why don’t you give me some answers?” Grantaire put the bottle down, afraid he might break it against something. "I'm sorry, Apollo, do I really have to ask the question? Huh, for example, where have you been FOR THREE DAMN YEARS WHEN WE ALL THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD?" Grantaire shouted at his face, his nose few inches away from Enjolras'. His hands were shaking, his heart raced like crazy. It's been so long since he felt this alive. When Enjolras died, part of him died with him.  
"I was... I had to," The golden boy tried to reach him, but changed his mind. Until now Grantaire hadn't noticed Enjolras was shivering, as completely anther creature lured out from his skin. This Enjolras was tired, his eyes read and droopy, his head too heavy, hanging low on his neck. "I had to."  
"You had to what, Enjolras?" Grantaire demanded, "Speak for God's sake!"  
He wasn't used to this.   
Enjolras fell back on the chair, rubbing his eyes. "You wouldn't understand."  


_You wouldn't understand._   
_Yes, because R has always been the stupid one, uninterested in the greater cause, the drunk, the idiot. The fool._   


Before Grantaire got a chance to burst out screaming and shouting all kinds of vulgar phrases and insults, Enjolras continued, "I had to disappear. I was a dead man," literally, Grantaire thought, "And I couldn't drag you down with me." He stopped only for a moment. "If I didn't leave France, if they caught me, they would have murder me. And I mean cold blooded murder. Do you think even Javert would care about law at this point? The things I've done..."  
"Are the things you did for France. For liberty. For this people." He recalled all the harshly inspired speeches, ones that made even Grantaire's blood freeze, Enjolras and his deadly hymns.   
"It doesn't matter whom I did it for. I'd hang anyway." Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire, his voice barely above whisper.  


He's alive.

  
Black haired man knocked down into other chair, and put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “You are one patriotic piece of shit,” then he added, “and I’m still angry with you.”

  
 _It was like welcoming the dawn, embracing the infernal shadows back into your heart._   


“I understand your frustration, but I don’t underst-“  
“You don’t understand why I’m agry at you?” Grantaire cut him off. “Who wouldn’t be angry you ate my cereal and faked your death for three years!”  
“Oh, sorry for the cereal.” Enjolras mumbles, positioning himself like he is ready to fall asleep right there on that uncomfortable chair.  
“You’re sorry for the cereal?” Grantaire repeats like a two year-old, “just for that?”  
“Uh-huh,” Enjolras yawns.  
“Do others know you’re here? Ferre? Courf?”  
“No, I came here first.”  
Grantaire observed as his blond haired head slid onto the table. "Come here," he pulled the other man up, guiding him to the couch. In matter of seconds, only sound that came out of Enjolras was quiet snoring. He was so pieceful, and so unknown to Grantaire in this state.  
No matter how many days, months, years, even decades pass, he would always take him with open arms.   



End file.
